


Pantheon

by inkedinserendipity



Category: Moana (2016)
Genre: Gen, Moana's there in spirit, and is the focus of this entire conversation, give me them happy endings, version one of a fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-14 12:52:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9182563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkedinserendipity/pseuds/inkedinserendipity
Summary: If anyone knows what will happen to Moana as she ages, it is Te Fiti.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set about five years in the future. I believe that, at this point, Moana’s got her own pretty impressive spread of tattoos. In a sort of personal tribute to Maui, she adds a new one whenever she accomplishes something particularly impressive: establishing a new trade, fending off a monster of Lalotai, discovering another archipelago. The first one she got is a bird to mirror Maui’s own, one that her grandmother always said reminded her of Moana - the small, brightly-colored, blue-feathered _ti’otala_.

Te Fiti's not all bad, Maui supposes. He does kinda owe her for the creation of humanity and, well, life itself. Besides, the whole forgiveness gig after he sorta stole her heart was pretty great of her.

Even though she makes him super uncomfortable. It must be the whole loomy thing she does. It sets Maui’s teeth on edge. Though it doesn’t seem to bother Curly in the slightest. It’s like she has no idea Te Fiti could literally suck her life out of her bones at any given moment. It must just be a trademark Moana thing - striding fearlessly up to deities and demanding they do as she asks.

Regardless, it's with great unease that Maui hovers over the mountains that mark Te Fiti’s island. A flash of his fishhook, the appearance of a physical, functioning mouth, and he can get this conversation over and done with.

He can do this. He can so, totally do this. He's taken down, like, giant sparkling crabs and literal lava monsters before. This is gonna be easy-peasy, piece of cake.

Once he, y'know, musters the motivation to actually get the conversation started. It shouldn't be that hard. Just pop down, ask a simple question, get a response and head on his way. He might even say thanks, if he likes the answer.

Well, he's flown all the way out here from Motunui, which is a pretty taxing flight even for a demigod like him. May as well do it now. Before he can think too hard about it. Like pulling out hair, nice and quick.

He hops down to the mountain before he can reconsider, landing feet-first on the sandy floor. "Hey," he says, once he has lips again.

Between blinks, Te Fiti materializes.

Since regaining her original form, Te Fiti has recovered her ability to take the form of the humans they both love. She's still green and covered with flowers, but it's a bit easier to look her in the eyes as a humanoid rather than an island or a verdant, blooming giant, which Maui supposes he's grateful for.

Funny how she's always taller when she's talking to him than when Moana stops by to chat. No, it’s _Maui_ who always needs to crane his neck. Without fail, his neck is sore the next morning. It’s like she’s holding a grudge or something. Um, not that he’d know anything about that.

 _Maui_ , the earth acknowledges, as Te Fiti inclines her head slightly. She’s not smiling, but it doesn’t look like she’s gonna smite him either, which Maui chalks up as a victory.

"Heh, uh, yeah. I had a question. Um." Maui spins his fishhook a couple of times, then lets it land in the dirt, leaning it against his shoulders. "About humans."

She raises a vined eyebrow at him. He swallows.

"What - er, what happens when they die?"

Te Fiti blinks at him, her godly countenance wavering with surprise. Slowly, with the surety of the sea itself, her head cocks to one side. _Why?_

"Well. Uh, y'see, there's this village. And I wanted to know what would happen if they were, theoretically... attacked. What would happen to them. I mean, the people."

The dubious possibility that he would be the one attacking Motunui brushes against his mind, and he waves his arms to refute the notion. "This is just hypothetically, of course," he clarifies, grinning disarmingly.

She's unswayed by his winning demeanor. She sighs deeply, and her countenance shrinks a little. With more than a small bit of relief, Maui de-hunches his shoulders and settles his neck to a more reasonable inclination.

In a curt flick of her wrist, Maui’s next blink shows him Pulotu.

Inadvertently, he shivers - he’s never been, necessarily, but this place of flames and crackling ruins needs no titling. It is the manifestation of a hell a thousand times worse than Lalotai. “So, what, all mortals go to Saveasi’uleo?” he asks, fiddling with the idea and rejecting it instantly. Hey, Te Fiti may be really bad at face-to-face conversations, but she’s not cruel.

Another blink, and Maui float above himself. The skies of Tagaloa smell like a fresh breeze, like coconut leaves and the ocean, a balm and comfort to grieving spirits.

“Ah, okay. So some go up there too.” He flops his wrist skyward, where Tagaloa’s probably hanging out and doing, well, whatever deities do on their days off. “So do any, uh...stay here?”

Te Fiti’s eyebrows dip in confusion.

“Y’know, stay on the earth. Or maybe the sea, I mean, a water-walking mortal would be pretty cool too.”

The confusion in Te Fiti’s face clears, and her expression droops. Literally, all the way down to the vibrant stems and flowers that make up her face. She wilts like a coconut tree too long without water.

Maui’s good humor plummets.

_No._

For a couple of seconds, Maui just...doesn’t breathe. It’s not a welcome sensation. Reminds him of drowning.

“All humans die,” he says aloud, unsure if it’s a confirmation or just a disbelieving statement. He turns a challenging glare on her. “Humans. They live for, what, half a century, and then they die. That’s how it goes, right?”

_Yes._

Suddenly, he’s _angry,_ because all humans die.

Moana will die.

“Why?” he spits.

_What do you ask?_

“Why would you - why would you give life, if only to take it away? Do you just - is it _fun_ , for you, giving them a gift and then stealing it back? Huh?”

A voice in the back of his head is spluttering at the blatant disrespect that he’s showing Te Fiti, the _goddess of life_ , who could kill him with a flick of her fingers. But most of him just...doesn’t care.

“Answer me, Te Fiti! There has to be some reason you give them life and hope and then _take it from them_ when they misstep!”

The drooping rainbow on her face turns a bit ashy and gray. It doesn’t look healthy, if he’s honest, but a tiny vindictive part of him that’s been growing smaller under Moana’s influence rears its ugly head and goes _good._

Even Te Fiti, the goddess of life herself, has no words for him. Well, if she’s just gonna sit there and look upset, then he’s got better places to be. What those better places to be are, he’s not entirely sure right now. But another thousand-year vacation on his island is sounding better and better, far away from determined mortals and their irritating, frustrating ways of wiggling into his heart and nestling themselves there, making him a better person, giving him someone to love.

With a furious shrug of his own shoulders, he gives up.

“Fine,” he hisses to her glooming face. “Fine. If you want to - if you’re gonna take -” _Moana_ , he almost says, _if you’re gonna take Moana from me_ , but he clamps down on the words.

There are too many thoughts whirling inside his head. Too many things he wants to spit. Too many verbalizations of what he’s _thinking_ and _feeling_ and Te Fiti won’t even speak for herself and tell him why, why she’s given him this gift only to take it away in such a short period of time - less than half a century and she’ll be gone, fleeting and ephemeral like the mist over the sea, untouchable and unknowable -

“Fine,” he says instead, and is nearly as surprised as Te Fiti looks to see that his rage is gone. Dissipated.

He wants nothing more than to fly away and never come back to this cursed island, ever again. Maybe he’ll just - he’ll just go back to his rock and stay there until the world itself ends. Better than getting attached. Better than waiting for his humans to shrivel and blow away in the cruel winds off the seas.

But before he can flip his hook and flap off to find another island, far from Te Fiti and Motunui and Moana, painfully mortal Moana, a quiet voice stops him.

He wants to go. The soles of his feet itch with it, with the anger and apathy that burns through him. Standing here, on this island, hearing these things that he doesn’t want to hear - he hates it.

But he stays. He looks at Te Fiti with a venom he is sure she understands. He doesn’t even bother trying to hide it - just stands, a horrible rage filling his chest, and waits.

Her eyes - not the eyes of the flowers that line her cheekbones, but the eyes of Te Fiti herself - crinkle in sadness, and her breath comes out as the sigh of a hundred petals exhaling as one. She shrinks more, for the first time eye-to-eye with Maui, and a different scene flows from her upturned palms and into his mind.

It’s...himself.

As a child.

His lip curls and he moves to look away, but there is no escape from the images dancing along his own eyelids. Slowly, the well-remembered scene plays out; the faceless human who birthed him and abandoned him, leaving him to die alone and forgotten on the waves.

But he didn’t. He lived, and breathed again; he brought wind and life and fire to the humans who adored him in turn.

_You died - but yet you lived._

He scoffs. Even if he survived death itself, Moana won’t.

The lines around Te Fiti’s eyes soften, as though she could hear his thoughts as her own. Once more, his eyes fill with a vision, but this time, it is of a woman he does not know.

Her back is to him. She sways on the beach of an island - on Motunui? - eyes closed in contentment. Her body moves with the rhythm of the waves and for one, terrible moment, Maui is certain that this is Moana, fifty years from now, longing for the ocean but unable to reach it. He is about to turn away when she swivels to face him, eyes closed and humming in contentment, and Maui cannot help a sigh of relief. It’s not Moana, but the two do share an uncanny resemblance. As she dances in her small circle, the inked outline of a manta ray, intricate and breathtaking in its detail, becomes visible on her back.

A flash, and the woman disappears, and Moana takes her place.

His chest clenches against the sight. Though he was not there, he knows well what this is. _The ocean chose wrong,_ his own voice repeats, taunting him, and Moana bends over the wood of her own craft, arms hugged against her chest. She’s crying.

 _Stop_ , Maui thinks, unable to look away. _This was years ago, I don’t -_

The vision does not stop. She’s pleading with the ocean _you chose wrong, choose someone else, I can’t_ do _this_ , and all the words are so not-Moana that he recoils physically from the image.

“Stop,” he begs Te Fiti, and his words are far shakier than he would have liked.

Moana takes the Heart and casts it away, shoulders trembling furiously. The ocean swallows it, its green light glinting as it fades, drifting toward the sandy bottom.

“Stop!”

The ocean itself seems to hold its breath in the wake of his bellow. For a moment, Maui thinks he’s succeeded, that Te Fiti listened, but Moana hiccups, and his chest aches.

Then the surface of the water shatters. The bottom of the craft illuminates with a pearlescent, silvery glow as a manta ray arches up and out of the water, wings flapping gently. It soars and catapults through the air, lighting the surface of the sea with a shimmering glisten that looks almost-tangible.

Then the vision shifts, and the strange woman dancing alone on Motunui sits on the end of the boat.

Moana’s grandmother, Maui realizes abruptly. The grandmother that Moana lost and mourned, who alone carried the stories of their ancestors, the last link in a chain that led directly to Moana. The grandmother who died without Moana by her side. 

Just before the vision ends, he sees Moana - _his_ Moana - and the _ti’otala_ tattoo engraved on her shoulder. A mirror to the hawk on his own.

 _The ocean has chosen several_ , says the voice of Te Fiti, and as he blinks his vision returns to him. Stunned and dazed, he stares over her shoulder, struggling to process the visions. However he tries, he keeps seeing Moana a decade younger, aching and alone, abandoned on the ocean -

 _But only one has answered its call._ Te Fiti graces him with a small smile, and although it hurts more than he can comprehend, his anguish subsides a bit. _The grandmother of Moana heard the call, just as her granddaughter would; the ocean might have chosen her, too. And though she could not answer the call, she passed on her duty faithfully. So the ocean gave her a spirit to aid her granddaughter when the young Moana needed it most._

There’s no condemnation in her voice - just a faint, curling amusement. _Moana found you, half-god Maui. Moana heard the call of the ocean._

“So, what, she’s going to become a bird in the next life? She’s still mortal,” Maui points out, dazed.

Te Fiti arches an eyebrow at him. She’s never showed him that expression; typically, it is Moana and Moana alone to whom Te Fiti shows anything other than perfect tranquility. But now, there is something playful in her face. _So she would. However, no mortal can survive the fall to Lalotai,_ she points out with equanimity.

Between one heartbeat and the next, her implications catch up with Maui. His mouth turns dry. The hook jabs into the flesh of his arm as he half-falls, half-leans against it, back muscles going slack. “She had the ocean to catch her,” he protests.

_That makes no difference, half-god Maui. She would have died all the same._

“But - Moana’s almost died about a hundred times, she’s come way too close to death to be immortal!”

_Yet she never did._

Te Fiti is right, he realizes with a start. There’s a reason no mortal would make the leap to Lalotai. None would - none _could_ \- survive. At the time, he’d dismissed her choice as foolhardiness, her survival as pig-headed stubbornness. But if the landing was jarring for him, then it would’ve been fatal for any mortal.

On his chest, Mini-Maui perks up excitedly, hopping from foot to foot in time with the quickened rhythm of Maui’s own heartbeat. Distantly, Maui recognizes it as an improvised victory dance, but pushes the thought to one side, focusing entirely on Te Fiti.

“She’s a goddess?” he finally asks, once his jaws function correctly.

 _Half_. Te Fiti nods at him, faint amusement lining her face, cheeky expression reducing to a faint-but-present trace of joy. _As the ocean chose you, Maui, so the ocean chose Moana. And as you are half-god, Maui, she is half-goddess._

_We are not sure what will happen to you, to you or the half-god Moana, but with the spirit of her grandmother and the tattoos you both share, I believe it is safe to conclude, half-god Maui, that you should find a long time will pass before you and Moana are separated. When I awoke, as Moana completed the wishes of the ocean, she joined your pantheon of one. And as we both know of that particular mortal, half-god Maui, I do not believe she will soon leave._

“Oh,” he says. His jaws hurt, and a hand to his mouth reveals that he’s smiling. Huh. He drops his palm quickly, but the smile’s harder to get rid of. A moment's consideration, then he takes a deep breath, thinks of Moana, and grins a thank you. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After two years, Maui reveals the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This continuation is dedicated to every reader who left a comment, a reply, a PM, asking me to continue this story. It is from you that this idea came, and for you that I’ve set my pen to metaphorical paper. Thank you so much for supporting me in my writing.
> 
> I hope that you enjoy!

The smell of rain is thick and heavy in the air, folding itself around Moana like a blanket. Around her _fale_ , the wind tears at the leaves of the coconut trees lining the paths of Motunui, its howls peppered with the occasional dull _thud_ as a coconut rips free of its stem and slams into the ground. Raging winds and ferocious hails are speckled with storms of sleet and rain that tear at the roof. 

This is one of the worst storms that has struck Motunui in several years. Moana is devoutly grateful to be on her island, safe and secure inside her _fale_. Even more so to not be weathering this storm on the sea, with its hail and screaming winds and snaps with a destructive fervor. Were she sailing, she could only hope to have a functional ship when it blows over. 

Landbound, though, Moana is not concerned; she’d ordered her people to take cover several hours before the storm set in. They are either keeping warm with well-tended fires or curled up with one another to sleep away the tirade. Years of sailing and negotiating has taught the people of Motunui well how to make do with what they have; and on this beautiful island, there is always more than enough. 

But no fire illuminates the thatched roof of the Chief’s tent. Ordinarily, Moana would be cold, curled up and shivering against the cool breezes sent surging toward Motunui by the howling storm. But Maui’s side is actually quite warm. It’s as though the fire he brought up from the volcano of Mahuika found itself a second home inside his belly. 

“Hey, Curly,” he says conspiratorially, and the thick vibrations from his chest jolt Moana out of her half-doze. For a second, she debates continuing to sleep, because she’s so comfortable and it’s so _nice_ , in her _fale_ with Maui, doing nothing more than listening to the rain rail against the roof. As Chief, there are so few times where she can just _be_. 

But he’ll just keep asking until she responds. “We’re not sailing in this,” she grumbles against his chest. The sand scratches between her toes as she shifts more comfortably, eyelid half-closed against Mahuika’s hair. 

“I would never suggest something so irresponsible,” Maui retorts, sounding offended. Moana pointedly does not remind him that the _last_ time there was a storm this bad on Motunui, he’d amassed five of the bravest warriors on their island - all below their teenage years - and taken them for a crash course in weathering disasters. She’d lost two and a half boats from her fleet that day - two smashed to splinters, and one recognizable only from the carvings on the side that had towed Maui, five shivering bundles cradled in his arms, back to shore. “Nah, I have a story for you.” 

“I’ve heard it before.” Outside the _fale_ , there’s flash of brilliant light as lightning plummets from the sky to scorch some unfortunate tree on the island. Thankfully, the sound is far from her. They’ll find the fallen tree on the leeward side of the island some days hence.

“No you haven’t! This one’s new.” 

“Maui, we’ve gone over the ones on your chest at least three times,” she says, giving Mini-Maui an unintentional high-five as she pats his kite, “and a couple of the ones on your back have hit six.” 

“It’s almost like you don’t believe me, Fishfeet.”

“Your instincts are sharp as ever.” Just for kicks, and also because her leg’s cramping something awful, she half-turns, spread-eagling her arms over his chest. The back of her head rests squarely beneath his jaw, forcing at a probably-uncomfortable angle, if he’s still leaning against the pole of the _fale_ like she remembers when they first took shelter. A sigh of relief escapes her as she shakes out the uncomfortable prickling in her legs, crossing her ankles over his. 

Almost immediately after Maui grunts at the impact of her back against his stomach, he winces. “Nope, up you go,” he says, planting one huge hand against the small of her back and shoving. 

Her arms windmill frantically as she tries to regain her balance before stumbling to her feet. “Rude!” 

“Uh-huh. Side’s okay, Curly. Chest, too. But once you start digging your pointy hips into mine, we got problems.” 

“Okay now I’m definitely not listening to your story.” 

“Oh c’mon, Curly, that’s not fair,” he wheedles.

“Neither was that!”

“It’s not my fault you’re pointy!” 

“That’s because you keep stealing all our _paifala_ , Maui!”

He humphs for a brief moment, then opens his arms in a gesture of defeat that doubles as an invitation. Barely concealing a smirk, she flops back against him, making sure to hip-check him in the legs. His small _oof_ of pain makes the whole thing worth it. 

“All right, Demigod of the Wind, what’s this thrilling tale you’ve got for me?”

With a resigned sigh that sounds uncannily like the one she gives La’ei when the young girl wants to keep adoring her headdress with shells instead of help her future people pick coconuts, Maui settles one hand on her shoulder, warming her skin. “This is the story of a goddess that I knew. That I know.”

The sounds of the storm shredding her precious island to little more than ribbons of green and sand grow louder. “I’ve already heard the story of you stealing from Mahuika at least twenty times, Maui, and that doesn’t even count your reenactments to the children.”

“No, it’s not Mahuika.” 

Moana stares at him, befuddled, then glances down at her makeshift pillow in bemusement. There’s nothing new on his chest since he flapped off a couple weeks ago. “Is this a story you don’t have a tattoo for?”

Maui jabs a finger into her cheek. “You’ll see, Fishfeet. And no, I’m not making this up, just hush and let me talk.” 

Still in high spirits despite the ferocious storm raging outside her _fale_ , she settles herself back down to listen. “Fine, go on.” 

“ _Thank_ you, Curly. Anyway, as I was saying, this is the story of a demigoddess. She was born to a village of humans. She was much admired by the people she -”

“What’s her name?”

“ _Hush_ , Moana. You’ll find out soon.” His chin grazes the top of her head as he shakes his head reprovingly. Grinning to herself, Moana lets her eyes slide shut and quietly resolves to keep quiet for the rest of the story. Whatever it’s about, it has to be important - she could see something itching on the tip of his tongue for at least a week before he took off the last time. And since it’s only been about ten hours since he returned, this must be whatever was bothering him. “So this demigoddess, she was actually the - well, she was a figure of pretty prominent authority - oh, never mind that. Anyway, she had some responsibilities with her village. But then she took to the ocean, and together, they travelled far away.”

Moana’s eyes blink open, pausing. Another demigoddess called by the ocean? None of her grandmother’s tales talked about one. Which would make sense, she realizes a tad melancholically. Plenty of their tales were lost when Chief Nofo came to power forty generations ago; it was only her grandmother and her ancestors who preserved what legends they could, whispered in secret. 

A pang of nostalgia, as old and familiar as the call of the ocean, prods at Moana’s heart at the thought of her grandmother. Even now, five years after her grandmother passed, Moana can still hear her grandmother’s voice in her dreams. The loss of her still aches. 

“On the back of the ocean, the demigoddess travelled to Lalotai, the realm of monsters. And from Lalotai, she stole a great treasure. It was a weapon of incredible power, one that - with some encouragement,” Maui adds with a wry note sprinkling his voice, “worked pretty well. And with it, the demigoddess accomplished a feat that the world had never before thought possible.”

Huh. Whoever she is, she sounds daring. Heading to Lalotai, and stealing from it, no less. Ooh, maybe she can even go meet this strange demigoddess. If she and Maui still talk, anyway, since Maui has a special ability for irritating even the most powerful of beings. The tattoo of Mahuika against which she rests her head is a perfect example. 

“For you see, Moana, the village of this demigoddess had grown uneasy, a certain tranquility covering it. And only with this weapon could the demigoddess restore the spirit that had sung in their hearts. So the ocean and the demigoddess travelled over the seas, defeating foe after foe, monstrous and natural. Until finally, the demigoddess found that which would once more make her home whole.

“So this demigoddess sailed across the horizon itself, all to find a being that could return life and passion to her people once more.”

Wait. 

Wait - 

Her eyes flash open, and before she even processes what she’s doing, she pushes off of Maui’s chest and sits back. His calm gaze meets her own wide-eyed stare steadily, resignation seeping into his expression. 

“This demigoddess, Moana - man. She was a being of incredible character. Strong and determined. Empathetic to all, even the least deserving. Quick on her feet and even quicker in her mind. The demigoddess was - is - an incredible force of nature. So much so that even the ocean, the spirit of the ocean itself, is proud to call her a friend.” 

Moana can hear her heartbeat pounding in her chest. Still, Maui’s gaze is unwavering as he watches her reactions, words turning careful and cautious. She can hardly hear the next part of this - of his story - over the adrenaline that pounds through her veins, making her lightheaded and nauseous. 

“The weapon she had found in Lalotai abandoned her,” Maui continues, voice quiet now despite the pounding of the rain over her head, and sad. “But this demigoddess was so strong of heart, so unflagging in the love of her people, that she continued forward despite it.”

Moana doesn’t like this story. She wants it to stop, because she thinks she knows how it ends. 

“And she won. Against all odds, she sailed upon the ocean to restore life to her people. Against all odds, overcoming abandonment and self-doubt and loss, the demigoddess sailed through wind and fire and the earth itself to save her people.” 

“I don’t want to hear this,” she interjects weakly.

“Afterward, the demigoddess returned to her village. Her people knew little of what she had done to save them. They believed, as she let them, that the weapon she had found and healed in Lalotai was their true savior. They were wrong.” 

“Maui, stop.” 

Her shoulder is cold without Maui’s warmth, and he keeps talking. “And so she ruled in peace and harmony for several years. For you see, Moana, this demigoddess did not know she was as such. As she was born and raised by the humans, she did not know that by returning life to her people, and to all the peoples across the ocean, she had become immortal.

“The ocean had blessed her with its protection, during their long voyage across the seas. But even as her weapon abandoned her, even as she carried out her quest despite its absence - when she restored the word to life, she was granted a gift. The demigoddess had won life for herself, unending and eternal.”

At some point during that spiel, Moana had risen to her feet. As his words end, she realizes that her fists are balled at her side, hands shaking, and that she’s sort of hunched over the ground, unsure if she’s glaring or just staring. 

“Maui,” she says, voice soft and quavering, and he _won’t look at her_ , “what was her name?” 

He doesn’t respond. She doesn’t need him to. She does, however, need him to _look her in the eyes._

It’s her. That demigoddess - it’s her. 

She’s a _demigoddess_. 

She’s immortal. She will not die. She will live, long past her family, outlasting her tribe, will see the land she has worked so hard to create disintegrate like dust between her fingers, flitting away as the breeze carries sand toward the ocean.

She’s going to watch her parents die. Her sister. No, her whole people - everyone that she knows and loves on Motunui, even those beyond - her mother and father, her family, her precious La’ei whose rule Moana has _stolen from her_ , Chief Fuefue of Tumu, the children that have grown up listening to and learning to love the call of the sea - she will outlive them all. 

And - more - she cannot stay Chief, she cannot remain Chief forever. Power such as that - unending, eternal - corrupts, and Moana does not want to become a shell of herself. Fear steals into her, quick and insidious as poison flicks into the bloodstream, curdling her blood to ash. Where will she _go_? She cannot stay on her beloved island and consign her people to her rule, she can no longer grow old in their arms - her _future_ , the voyaging that her people have taken up with glee, in that she can no longer lead them; their arms will close to her, cut off like the barrier that blocks the sea from rushing up the shores of the archipelago and stealing its salt like acid into the soft untrampled roots of the new trees lining the shore - 

Moana will uncurl and wither under the harsh grains of time, but she will never die. 

“How long have you known?” Her voice turns hard and flinty, striking at him with the sparks of her fury. He - he _knew_ about this, somehow he found out, and he didn’t think it worth it to tell her. 

“Two years.” 

Briefly, Moana sees bright red. Two years, Maui had known that she was immortal, that she was - _condemned_ to this atrocity, to never rejoining her family in the realm of Tagaloa, and never once in one-hundred weeks could he be bothered to tell her. 

Coward. Maui is a coward, running from her. 

She’s not even aware she’s said it aloud until his expression shutters closed.

She shouldn’t have said it, she really shouldn’t have. Four years ago she promised herself to never bring it up again, because it’s clear that Maui regrets abandoning her, more than almost losing his hook, more than stealing the heart of Te Fiti. But it’s true, isn’t it? He ran away!

Maui shakes his head as he would clear a head of hair full of water, and shifts placatingly. It’s like he wasn’t even in pain at all. That’s his warrior face, Moana thinks bitterly. A mask. Running and hiding and fleeing, never stopping to confront. 

(A voice in the back of her mind whispers _remember his_ haka _Moana he faced Te Ka_ for you but she doesn’t want to hear it.) 

“Moana, I honestly didn’t think - you can still keep your rule, but then afterward, y’know -”

“That was two years, Maui,” she hisses. “Two years that you _lied_ to me.”

“Two years is a short time for a demigod, Moana! Besides, I was always going to tell you, there just...wasn’t a good opportunity.”

“There were _plenty_ of opportunities - how many times have we sailed together, Maui? And I’m _not_ a demigod, Maui, two years is a _long time_ for me!” she hollers back, and even as the words leave her mouth she knows they’re wrong. That’s not the point, he _knows_ that mortals don’t live nearly as long as he will - but if she’s immortal then - then - 

“Yes, Moana, you are!” he roars in return, stung. “Why are you even - Moana, you’re _immortal_ , you can live _forever_!”

He speaks as though he’s announced to her a precious gift and is insulted by the rejection. She feels a bit like she’s been slapped in the face. Like she should be _grateful_ for this damnation. 

“I don’t want to live forever,” she snarls. He’s on his feet now too, teeth bared. Their faces, both the faces of warriors, gleam uncannily in the fireless _fale_. “I should’ve - you should’ve told me earlier, Maui, I could’ve figured something out!”

His arms grow larger in exasperation as he gestures toward the sky. Oh, like _she’s_ the one being insufferable? “Two years isn’t that long, Moana. What would you have done? Begged Te Fiti to kill you?”

“You don’t get to decide that!” Her hair is flying everywhere, but she won’t spare a hand to comb it back. “You should have _told me_ , it was not your secret to keep. This was something I _needed to know_!”

“I didn’t -”

“You’re still keeping secrets, and you’re still lying, and - and you’re still running from everything! You’re even running from _me_! When, Maui, when are you going to stop? _Didn’t you learn the first time?_ ”

Silence. 

Her words fall on an open mouth and eyes so full of hurt that it tears at her, at the part of her she’s working quickly to encase in rock and unfeeling ice. She doesn’t care anymore. Let him grieve, let her words _hurt_ , how _dare_ he keep this from her and pretend she should be _grateful_ that she’s imprisoned with the life of the world itself, away from her people and her family - 

She can’t be in her own _fale_ right now. Even the ominous slamming of the rain against the thatched roof does little to deter her. She needs to get away from Maui, from Maui who has taken her _fale_ from her just as he has taken her future. 

  
  
The rain feels like it’s trying to drive a knife through her skull. Despite the typical warmth of her island, it is turned cold, the water condensing into something unnatural and violent, twisted into clear shapes that prick at her skin as if aching to draw the blood below. In the depths of her ears the wind howls, so loud she might fear she would lose an ear to its might. But Moana processes all this distantly, like there’s a film between her body and her consciousness. Her feet are bare of any sort of protection but the callouses on her feet fend off the worst of the stabbing pain when she steps squarely on a root that juts out of the softened, muddy ground. Her arms wrap around herself subconsciously.

How dare he. _How dare he_.

Even through the rage clouding her vision and driving her feet to a destination unknown, even through the furious arch of her shoulders, there’s a panicked voice in the recesses of Moana’s brain repeating _immortal, immortal, Moana you are immortal -_

She wants it to shut up. 

She no longer wants to worry about Motunui. She no longer wants to be Chief. She wants to give that burden to someone else. Let another villager crumble under the weight of her _tuiga_ , let its feathers cloud someone else’s ears until all they can hear is the weight of their companions and their family and their _problems_ , their endless problems. 

But most of all, she wants to be away. Because despite the howling wind that snarls through her hair, intent on ripping it from her skull - despite the rain that slams against her feet and cracks open the thin layer of skin between her toes - this is her island, and she loves it. 

This is her island. Her home. Her Motunui. She wants to protect it. 

But she cannot, because she is immortal. If she reigns, so she will reign forever, and that is unfair. Will she be cast aside by her family, as Maui’s did to him? Will she too be spat into the ocean and told to leave, to never return?

Confused thoughts whirl around in her head, laced with contradictions that eat away at her mind like venom, tearing through conscious thought and reducing her to a series of footsteps in the storm. For several minutes she walks, aware of nothing more than the pain in her mind greater than any open cuts bleeding in the vicious rain and wind. 

So it is with surprise that Moana looks up to find that she has crossed merely one hundred-fifty footsteps, the path from her _fale_ to the grand _fale tele_ that adorns Motunui’s normally grassy fields and open spaces like the glistening centerpiece of her _tuiga_. 

While the _fale tele_ is almost always occupied, Moana would have expected it to be, in this atrocious weather, deserted. But, to her surprise, two figures sit huddled together in the center. Their heads are pressed together, their hair cascading over two sets of shoulders like one. As she approaches the _fale tele_ , their shapes resolve into more familiar silhouettes. 

Her parents. 

Inside the protection of the _fale tele_ , Moana can straighten her shoulders again. They look up at her, shocked to find her out in the rain. Tui stands to draw her nearer but Moana already approaches. Just as the protection of the _fale tele_ causes the rain to cease, shielding the ground from its wrath, so the presence of her parents disintegrates the wall of anger and confusion that Moana had foisted between her and everything else. 

These are her _parents_ , her beloved mother and father, who have looked after since she was little more than a seed in her mother’s womb, who would never betray her. 

Her tears begin to fall without her permission, and inside the _fale tele_ she cannot pretend it’s the rain. But her parents, who are quick to love and far slower to judge, pull her into a _hongi_. They radiate warmth and acceptance, even though they shiver where they have pulled their hands apart to make space for her between their heartbeats. 

The gesture makes her cry harder, her fists raising to scrub at her eyes and she leases muffled wails into her palms. This _hongi_ is traditional to her people and she has done so many, been pulled into hundreds and herself initiated hundreds more. It is a greeting and a farewell, the passage of life and love from one person to another. But this - but this one - she’s not sure if this _hongi_ is a greeting or a permanent goodbye. 

Moana doesn’t want to say goodbye. 

Her father’s hand is warm and firm against her back. He rubs in soothing circles just as he had when she was a small child, sobbing much as she does now because Heihei nearly suffocated in the sand or because she’d fallen out of a coconut tree trying to better see her island. To her right her mother reaches up to wipe the tears from Moana’s face, fingers gentle against her cheeks. 

Slowly, as Tui pulls them both closer to her chest, her mother begins to hum. Moana drops her face from theirs and buries it instead in his shoulder, pretending just as she had when her broken knee, scuffed with the bark of the _niu_ tree, had sent her wailing to her parents, that if she closed her eyes and prayed hard enough, everything would be okay.

But she’s immortal, now. She is a deity. Soon, her people will pray to her.

That thought only makes her cry harder, a fresh round of sobs wracking through her frame and sending her shoulders trembling against her father and her mother’s chest as she cocoons Moana’s back, running her fingers through her daughter’s hair. Moana doesn’t want to be worshipped. She wants to live free with her people, sailing the seas without end. 

She doesn’t want immortality. 

She shouldn’t have left the reef. 

Her father continues to trace warm circles on her back, and her mother’s never-ceasing fingers thread gently through Moana’s frayed and worn locks. It seems that her mother will never lose her breath, continuing the same melody that Moana remembers from childhood. It wraps warm fingers around her heart and wills it to calm, to beat slower, to be steady and true. 

Slowly, slowly, under their touch, Moana’s sobs gently abate. Her mother’s soothing voice guides her to breathe, to listen to the rhythm of her father’s heartbeat. To focus on existing. 

Her mother’s not sure why that makes Moana cry harder, but she will soon.

Eventually, under her mother’s guidance, Moana regains her breath once more. She pulls back, head bowed, ashamed of the way her eyes puff and are surely inflamed with red. A voice in the back of her mind taunts _is this any way for a deity to act_ but she slams down on it with a quick viciousness that shocks even her. 

“What is wrong, _pele_?” Sina asks her quietly. Despite the unrelenting rain pounding against the ground all around them in their open _fale tele_ , her words are clearly audible. 

Moana almost says nothing. She could brush it off as some other inconsequential spat. Maybe she could hide with Te Fiti for the rest of her life, never have to deal with her parents and her beloved village bowing under the strains of time when she does. It would be easy.

But Moana is not a coward. She will not run like Maui did. She will not be like him. 

So she musters her courage, swallows over a dry throat despite the moisture in the air, and says “I’m immortal.” 

Both of her parents, seemingly with one pair of lungs, inhale sharply. “Immortal?” Tui asks, shaken. 

Her throat has closed again, so Moana nods and buries her face in her father’s chest. 

Moana counts a dozen heartbeats before her father takes her gently by the shoulders and pushes her upright. With the same strong hand, he tilts Moana’s chin to meet his gaze. “When you restored the heart of Te Fiti.”

Another nod. Sina presses a fist to her mouth, staring with wide eyes at the ground by Moana’s feet. 

“Ah,” he says, blinking quickly. His hand falls from her chin, and it is only years of training and practice that keep keep her from crumbling to the ground. 

“When did you find out?” her mother asks. 

A wry grin twists sharply at Moana’s face. Anger, at least, is easier to deal with than grief, so she latches onto it with curled fists. “Several minutes ago. Maui told me.” 

Her mother’s keen eyes flick down to the veins standing out against her wrist, the cuts littered along Moana’s arms and rash against her toes, but she does not comment. Instead, she tucks a lock of Moana’s hair behind her ear, then kneels on the floor of the _fale tele_. “Why does this upset you so, _pele_?”

Moana stares at her disbelievingly. “Why does this - mother, how would this not? I can’t - I can’t lead anymore! I can’t be Chief if I’m never going to die!”

“Why not?” 

“Because if I keep acting as Chief then I’ll never leave. And then I’ll rule forever and become some - some Chief stuck in the past, I’ll lose my village, I’ll become something I don’t want to -” oh no, the tears are coming again but she swallows them back, determined to say this all before they spill over once more, and her fingers are clenching around the sturdy material of the skirt and scrunching it roughly over her thighs “- and I’ll bring destruction to Motunui, because of me, because I’ll - because I’ll be _immortal_.” 

“Ah, Moana,” she sighs. Sina watches her for several moments, then covers one of her daughters’ hands in her own, carefully untangling her locked fingers from the delicate fabric. “Becoming immortal does not change who you _are_ , Moana. You are still the competent Chief that has led our people for many years now. And when the time comes, _pele_ , you will step down.”

That residual anger propels Moana’s mouth open, and then it sits on its hinges, lips flapping open like those of a small fish. “Your father left the role five years ago, because you were ready. And in time, Moana, you may do the same for La’ei after you. When Arihi’s child is ready, you can step aside.”

Her knee twinges with the phantom pain of the _niu_ tree, and she attributes her dangerously wobbling lip to the same, even though it’s lies. “I guess I hadn’t thought of that,” Moana admits in a small voice.“I just -” she gestures helplessly with her free hand toward the village around her. “Motunui - being Chief - it’s what I know. I couldn’t imagine...not leading.” 

Tui folds his knees in parallel with his wife’s and daughter’s, tucking his hand between both of theirs. He supports the weight of their palms, warming them through the chill in the air. “And I felt much the same way. When you became Chief, Moana, I did not know what I would be. Chief or no? I could not tell. Being Chief was all that I had known. But I found that I stayed as I was. Yes, I was no longer a Chief. But I was still Tui of Motunui. I was your father, and your mother’s husband, and that would not change. However many suns rose over my head, that would not cease.

“And you know, Moana, that you are more than your role. You are our wayfinder and our voyager. You are the woman who loves both your island and the sea. And that, Moana, will not change when La’ei comes to lead Motunui.” 

His words strike so close to the part of Moana’s heart that keeps her grandmother close that it almost brings her to tears once more. “Then what do I do?” Moana asks despairingly. “I’m going to live _forever_ ,” she repeats, as though saying the words again will make them feel more real. It doesn’t. 

“You have always loved exploring,” her mother replies, and though her eyes are brimming with tears she is smiling. “You will have much time to explore now. And I assume,” she continues, mischief dancing in her eyes, “that you will be more free to sail with Maui.” 

Inadvertently, her hands try to curl once more into her fists. The playful smile drops from her mother’s face. “Yeah, about that.” Moana locks her jaw. “Maybe that wouldn’t be for the best.”

“Moana?”

“I mean, if he kept something like _this_ from me - he knew for _two years_ , Mother, two whole years and he didn’t see fit to tell me until now - then who knows what else he’ll do? Is he just gonna keep running away?” 

The look with which Sina spears her daughter is uncomfortably close to disappointment. “ _Pele_ , why do you think that he kept this from you?”

“Because he hates standing up and fighting things!”

“No,” her mother says softly, “because he hates losing.” 

“Yeah, I know. He’s so - so arrogant. Everything’s about him. He’s got a small version of himself hanging around his pectorals and he’s literally covered in his own victories.” She snorts bitterly. “I’m not sure how he could broadcast _I hate losing!_ more obviously.” 

“Moana,” her mother says, and her voice is firm, the tone of voice she uses when she would catch Moana or Arihi sneaking _paifala_ from their reserves before the start of the feast. Except sharper, with that same undercurrent of disappointment that makes Moana want to curl into a ball and wedge herself into a shell and never come out. “It is not his battles that he fears losing. It is that which is precious to him. And if you have forgotten, _pele_ , how precious you are to that demigod - and how precious he is to you - then you are no longer the Moana who played bait for a crab to spare his own life, nor the Moana who sailed across the ocean to save her people.” 

Moana could swear her heart stops pounding for half a moment. It wasn’t that she’d forgotten, it was just that - well, she’d chosen to ignore it. 

“You cannot be so quick to issue ultimatums, Moana,” her father says gently. “Your judgment is sound and your heart is true, but sometimes you must step back and consider carefully before acting.” 

Moana starts to protest, and realizes she has nothing to say. 

Oh no. 

Oh, she’s really messed this up. Maui... he hadn’t changed. That was the same Maui that she’s relied on for so long. The same Maui that joked with her until she felt better, the same Maui that listened to her until her complaints seemed fainter and more inconsequential than the morning mist over the seas, the same Maui that had once transformed them both to dolphins to escape an enraged sea turtle twenty times the size of herself. The same Maui that had stood by her side for these five years. 

Yes, sometimes he would disappear for weeks, months on end. Sometimes she’d worry about him. Sometimes her mind would chase itself for hours, imagining the dangers he could be facing alone. 

But Maui always came back. He always returned to Motunui and Moana, bearing some new story, mirroring her passion for exploration. He never left.

And, her brain adds unhelpfully, it wasn’t _Maui_ that fled into the rain from their argument. 

Moana buries her face in her hands. “Oh Gods,” she lets out a muffled moan directly into her palms. “I messed up.”

“Perhaps,” her mother replies, resting her hand on Moana’s knee. “We do not know what was said.”

“But it is not the act that defines who you are.” Tui smiles, the Chief of Motunui of old shining through once more in this moment. “It is how you confront your mistakes.” 

Of course. “I don’t think I can do this,” Moana says, feeling vaguely sick. They - she and Maui - have never had a falling-out quite this bad. She’d - oh Gods, she’d brought up the time he left, and even though it still aches when she doubts herself she’d _sworn_ she’d never bring it up with him again. Because she’d forgiven him, she really had.

It’s just that she was so angry, and so scared and - 

That doesn’t excuse anything.

What does she even say? She still can’t even stomach the thought of immortality, much less that her island, her beloved Motunui, will pass from her hands to another’s and change irrevocably in front of her eyes. 

She could look away, of course. She could leave this island and never return. But Moana - with Maui by her side, as always - does not run away. 

“You can, _pele_.”

Moana takes a deep, steadying breath. One thing that she has always loved about the _fale tele_ , even since her childhood, was that the walls around - just as they magnify the words of their elders and their storytellers - magnify the waves of the ocean as they rail against the shore so that, if she listens closely, she can hear them in the depths of her ears as she feels them tug at her heart. 

She closes her eyes and listens. And when she opens them once more, she has found her strength. 

Without speaking, she pulls her parents into a _hongi_. This is not a goodbye. As Moana - as the villager, as the Chief, and maybe even as the demigoddess - this _hongi_ is not a goodbye. It is a hello. 

Moana breathes life into her parents, just as they breathed life into her those years ago. Then she stands smoothly, mustering a smile, and strides from the _fale tele_ back into the plummeting rain. 

As she walks, the sheets of icy rain turn her back to shivering and make the hairs on the nape of her neck stand up in a futile protest to the freezing weather. Even as her toes freeze and rebel against the cold, as the wind screams through her ears, Moana can feel the proud gazes of her parents warm her core.

  
  


When Moana ducks quietly through the entrance of her _fale_ , she finds Maui sleeping. 

Well, he’s pretending to sleep, anyway. She knows him too well to actually be fooled. He’s snoring, breathing evenly, loud, making a pretty big show of it. He might even be drooling. He does that when he pretends to nap. Loves to “fall asleep” on top of Fetuilelagi while waiting for the children of Motunui to gather, to clamor for a story, just to hear her squeals of indignation and outrage. 

Moana turns pointedly from the possibility of falling for his facade and fleeing. Instead, she crosses the floor, footsteps padding silently beneath her, and slides to the floor with her back against the pole next to his feet. Her hair is sopping and heavy on her head, and the _fale_ is colder than even the world outside, but Moana can wait. 

She draws her knees to her chest and crosses her arms over them. The wood against her back scuffs at the skin as she leans forward to top her chin against her self-fortress. For a while, Moana occupies herself tracing the intricate patterns of the opening of her _fale_ with her eyes. 

Moana knows she won’t have to wait long. Patience is not a strong suit of Maui’s, and she’s confident that within several minutes, he’ll “wake up” to find her there. Already, his snores are petering off until they’re inaudible under the relentless drumming of the rain against the thatch of her roof. 

By Moana’s estimation, she has about two minutes until he pulls a huge yawn and discovers Moana back in her _fale_. But she realizes with something of a disappointed start that this conversation should not be his to begin.

With a deep sigh, Moana draws breath, lifts her chin from her crossed arms, and says “I’m sorry.” 

She’s not really sure what she expected. The Moana of earlier would’ve waited for Maui to rise before starting this conversation. But now, waiting for him to speak first - maybe even apologize first - just feels wrong. 

Because really, truly, it is Moana who should be first to apologize. 

Maui twitches in his sleep next to her, but Moana keeps her eyes fixed on the material that forms the walls of her _fale_. Apologies should include no justification, her father’s words repeat to her; for being a Chief is not only dealing with materials and provisions, but being considerate with people as well. Humility, while a hard lesson to learn, is an invaluable asset. 

“I was wrong to accuse you of -” _Taema’s toenails_ , her voice is breaking, and she’s not the one that’s supposed to be upset about that. “- about leaving,” she continues in a whisper, because even though she’s already cried herself dry - or so she thought - her voice still has it in it to crack. “That was unfair to you, and I know...I know that you wouldn’t.” 

The ground next to her shifts, but Moana keeps her eyes fixed on the delicate trim that lines her _fale_. Around her, the insistent rhythm of the rain peters off slightly, sound becoming more of a drumline than a cacophony of rocks slammed against one another. 

“You shouldn’t be the one apologizing, Moana.” His voice is tired, as weathered as the rocks that line the path to the beaches of Motunui. She jolts upright at the sound of it, and all over again, something within her aches. “You were right. I left.” 

“Maui, that was years ago.” 

His lips twist self-deprecatingly. “A couple years isn’t too long for a demigod.” 

Hearing her own words shoved back at her this way makes her flinch. “Look,” she says, and scoots over to face him. His gaze flickers cautiously toward hers, then away again. “A lot has happened since then. Sure, you - I mean, you made a choice, I guess -”

“It wasn’t just a choice, Moana,” he breathes, eyes wide as he stares toward the ground, “I chose my - my hook, over _you_. That’s not - that’s not forgivable!”

“But you came back.” 

She lets those words settle into the silence, hoping against hope - for she has done damage already with her words, she can see it through the cracks in his mask and Gods there are so many - that they will soothe him. 

“My father used to tell me that...that it’s not your mistakes that define you. It’s how you fix them. And... Maui, when you left, you came back. You always come back. To me, to Motunui. I know that. I promise I do. When I shouted at you, I was... afraid, afraid and upset,” and her voice is quavering but she needs him to understand that she doesn’t hate him - that thought alone is laughable because she could _never_ hate him - “and I didn’t mean it,” she finishes quietly. 

He doesn’t say anything, and the silence presses on her shoulders, begging her to fill it with something, some form of absolution. 

“I don’t know if I ever told you this. But, Maui, when you left - I forgive you. You were scared too, and I had messed up, and it’s okay.”

“It’s not that simple, Moana.” 

“And yet here we are.” Drawing from her parents, she covers one of his hands, clenched around his knees, with her own. “Besides. You don’t get to decide what’s unforgivable or not, because I’ve already forgiven you.”

“Moana, that’s not how it works, you can’t just -” he looks at her and she sees frustration, a veneer of frustration over anger and guilt, guilt so deep the ocean could not touch it “- you can’t just wave your hands and forgive something like that!” 

“Seems like it is to me. See?” she reaches out and taps at his heart, right where the smaller version of herself waves, keeping his soul protected. “Forgiven.”

That stills his protests. She reclaims her hand, and instead of tucking it back at her side, she slips it underneath his, covering his fist with both her palms. Around them, petrichor still lingers in the air; and the rain continues to lessen, until it is little more than a pattering above their heads. The familiar rhythm steals its way into Moana’s core and soothes her. 

“I’m not going to win this, am I.”

She huffs out a small laugh at the mock-resignation in his tone. “Nope.” 

The tributaries that had once streamed toward the ocean, digging furrows in the ground beneath them, lessen slightly as the rain abates. Outside the protection of the _fale_ , the wind tapers off to a muted yowl instead of a screeching war-cry. The ground glows with the barest hint of illumination as the clouds recede their heads ever-so-slightly.

“How are you...uh, how are you doing?”

Moana blinks. 

“About being, y’know, immortal,” he says, gesturing vaguely with his free hand toward her. Then, he looks at it, and after flicking a nervous glance toward her, uses it to cover her hands. His palm is gross and covered in sandy blades of grass, but it makes her heart lighter. “I’m sorry that...that I took so long to tell you, Moana. I just didn’t want to...”

“I know.” Moana inhales slowly, and exhales even slower. “I’m...adjusting,” she decides. “I think? I mean, I’m still...me. That hasn’t changed. I guess I’m still Chief too, and I was kinda worried I’d be Chief forever for a bit back there,” and she’s not quite recovered enough to make her rueful laugh as full and genuine as she would’ve liked, “but I can step down when I’m done ruling. When it’s La’ei’s turn to lead, I’ll hand over my _tuiga_. I think she’ll wear it well.” 

And she will. Her sister’s daughter is meticulous like her mother, with the same determined spirit and compassion that characterizes Moana herself. Moana understands some of what her parents felt - the frustrations as La’ei seems to spend more time decorating her garments than out on the sea, spending days investigating the spices of Tumu on their various traditional dishes; but with that, the joy as every day, La’ei learns something more of their culture.

And Moana is so, so proud of her. That La’ei is growing to love Motunui as her own. That La’ei is growing up with the tales that, in an ideal world, her great-grandmother might have shared with her. With their present in one hand and their history in another; with her island in one eye and the distant shore, the sparkle of the sea and the joy of discovery, always twinkling in the other. 

“What then?” Maui asks quietly, like he’s afraid of the answer. 

Moana has no shapeshifting abilities. No powers to set her apart from her beloved people, with whom she shares her island. She has nothing, really, but the wind in her sails and the sea, constant beneath her feet.

Well, as she said before - there’s always more. Always something else to explore. And...though the idea sort of dances at the peripheries of her mind, like a flame flickering just out of sight, Moana thinks it might be...nice, to sail. After all, there is still so much she hasn’t seen. She hasn’t yet found the end of the horizon, because it keeps going forever. Since she’ll never die, it might be a good time to just keep going. If it really extends infinitely, then, since she’s infinite too, she’ll never tire of sailing. 

Moana takes a deep breath. She returns to herself slowly, pulling gently out of her train of thought, and finds that her arms are shivering. Moana has to suppress a laugh - at least, at least, she can still feel. Can still feel the small things, like the cold on her skin and the water in the air and the breeze on her face and Maui’s hands around her own. 

“Don’t know,” Moana admits, and returns his smile with a burgeoning one of her own. “If the horizon really does go on forever - well, I’m forever now, too. So it’ll just be a competition of stubbornness.” Which she’s definitely going to win.

“We both know who’s gonna win that,” Maui says, awkwardly, offering an olive branch in the form of an uncertain wisecrack.

“Darn right!”

She hasn’t answered his actual question, though. Sure, the superficial one she’s got covered - sail. But that’s not what he’s asking, not really.

“But you know, Maui,” she begins slyly, drumming her fingers against his. “It’s not too fun to sail alone. Safety first. And besides, with you, there’s never a dull moment.”

Maui’s answering grin is so bright it nearly lights the _fale_ with the brilliance of the sun. “I’m so glad you’ve come to realize my wit and prowess. Besides, admit it. You’d get lost without me,” he boasts, and Moana is relieved to hear his usual boisterousness return to his tone. 

He still hasn’t reclaimed his hands, though. Before she can think of some reason to talk herself out of it, she leans forward and presses her forehead against Maui’s. 

It’s not like they haven’t shared a _hongi_ before. Dozens alone when Maui returns to Motunui, plummeting from his hawk-form like some falling star of feathers and boasts. When he leaves, when they pass through an island too similar to his thousand-year prison, when he starts skipping crabshells moodily and refusing all offers of a headband, keeping his hair flattened over his back. When the fishermen find the tail of a manta ray tangled in their nets, when they find an island not yet free of the rot that once plagued Motunui. 

But this is different. This is more than the greeting after several weeks’ separation - this is a greeting to a new era. To a new Moana, who is different and yet the same. A new life, one filled with new discoveries, new sails, new horizons. Certainly a time of uncertainties, of few constants. 

For there will be little that stays the same under the passage of time. There will be few things to which she can return, certain that they will stay by her side. 

But she knows, just as surely as the sun will rise tomorrow and the mist off the sea will part to reveal the horizon, just as she knows the rhythm of the tides in her heart and the love of her people always with her - Maui will stay by her side. 

Outside, the wind dies down to a cool silence. Once more, the sounds of the ocean trickle into her _fale_. The rain peters to nothing, and above their heads the clouds part entirely to allow the sun to shine through, flooding her _fale_ with light. 

And as Maui leans forward to reciprocate the _hongi_ , hands gentle as they clasp her own tightly, precious, his breath is light and joyous as it mixes with hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! If you liked reading about Maui reacting to Moana’s mortality in some form or fashion, stay tuned! Within the next couple of weeks or so, I’ll be putting up another work called _How Far They’ll Go_ , which will touch on a couple of the themes here. I’m pretty proud of this story, and I hope you will enjoy reading it.  
>   
> Glossary:  
>  _Fale_ \- word for a Samoan house or structure. 
> 
> _Fale tele_ \- the central building of a Samoan village, oftentimes used as a meeting place or one where storytellers (like Maui) would tell their stories. These buildings tended to be open-air, with no walls. Think the building at the beginning of _Moana_ , during Grandma Tala’s tale. 
> 
> _Hongi_ \- a Maori greeting which consists of two people pressing their foreheads together. Can be used as a greeting or farewell. Symbolizes an exchange of the breath of life. Moana and Te Fiti shared one when Moana first restored Te Fiti. Upon participating in a _hongi_ , an outsider will be considered part of the tribe, and for the remainder of the visit will be expected to act as such. 
> 
> _Pele_ \- a Samoan term of endearment meaning “heart”. 
> 
> _Tuiga_ \- the ceremonial headdress worn by Samoan Chiefs (and their children, during ceremonial occasions). This is the headdress Moana wears toward the beginning of the movie during _Where You Are_ and that we see briefly during _How Far I’ll Go_.
> 
>  _Niu_ \- Samoan word for coconut. 
> 
> _Paifala_ \- a Samoan dessert consisting of pineapple surrounded by baked dough. Essentially, a fruit _empañada_.
> 
>  _Haka_ \- a Maori battle cry used to intimidate enemies. Can also be used during special occasions - to greet a guest, to mark a funeral, etc. In the movie, Maui performed a _haka_ at least twice: once when opening the entrance to Lalotai, and the second to save Moana from Te Ka after the goddess shattered his hook. 
> 
> Mahuika - the Maori goddess of fire, from whom Maui stole. According to legend, he travelled to her volcano and brought fire to the humans. 
> 
> Tagaloa - the Samoan creator god, to which souls go upon death. His antithesis is Saveasi’uleo, who rules Pulotu, the underworld (analogous to Hades in Greek mythology). 
> 
> Taema - in Samoan mythology, one of the two goddesses of tattoo. Twin sister to Tilafaiga. 
> 
> Lalotai - the realm of monsters as seen in the film.
> 
> Arihi - Pacific Island name meaning noble. In this ‘verse, the younger sister of Moana, who helps Moana rule Motunui by taking care of the details that Moana is sometimes too hotheaded and determined to consider carefully before deciding. 
> 
> La’ei - a Samoan name meaning fashion, in a generic sense. In this ‘verse, the daughter of Arihi, who will rule Motunui after Moana passes. 
> 
> Tumu - an island of my own creation. Also the Samoan word meaning full. 
> 
> Fuefue - a Chief of my own creation. The Chief of Tumu and a friend of Moana’s as she takes to the seas to discover other tribes. Tumu and Motunui share close ties and trade freely. Also the Samoan word for a beach morning-glory, a light pink flower common on beaches.  
>   
> As always, if I’ve misconstrued Polynesian culture in any way, please let me know. 
> 
> Pop by to chat at inkedinserendipity.tumblr.com, and thanks again for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Lore taken from the Internet could tell me about Samoan mythology. From what I could find, the underworld was called Pulotu. Its ruler, akin to Hades in Greek mythology, was named Saveasi’uleo (sometimes shortened to Elo). On the other hand, Tagaloa, the Samoan creator god, lived in the sky, ruling over multiple realms. Human souls, upon death, could go to either of these places, depending on their lives and their choices.
> 
> Please let me know if I have misconstrued Polynesian culture in any way.
> 
> If you want to talk more about anything, drop by to chat on tumblr at inkedinserendipity.tumblr.com!


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